


Deadlines and Commitments

by MangoMartini



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Anniversary, Character Death, Feels, M/M, Wakes & Funerals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 22:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4979155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MangoMartini/pseuds/MangoMartini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As cruel as it is, he can still hear Harry's voice in his head: “A gentleman's name should appear in the newspaper only three times: when he is born, when he marries, and when he dies.” Back then the words had only felt like advice. Now, looking down at the hole in the ground, they came back up like the bile in the back of Eggsy's throat like an ignored omen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deadlines and Commitments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [slashaddickt](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashaddickt/gifts).



Eggsy wraps the scarf tighter around his neck and tries to focus on the feeling of the grass beneath his Oxfords. As cruel as it is, he can still hear Harry's voice in his head: “A gentleman's name should appear in the newspaper only three times: when he is born, when he marries, and when he dies.” Back then the words had only felt like advice. Now, looking down at the hole in the ground, they came back up like the bile in the back of Eggsy's throat like an ignored omen.

He worries the gold band around his left hand, the one he couldn't get off even if he tried. It was stuck on, shrunk somehow behind the last knuckle on Eggsy's ring finger. He knows that he's lucky if more than a few other people show up. They've already done their toast, as Arthur had reminded him when he invited her, and there was still work to do, new recruits to test. But at the end of the day Arthur was still Roxy, _his_ Roxy, and so she had squeezed Eggsy's shoulder and promised him that she would be there.

At least it was fitting weather for a funeral, Eggsy thinks. The sky is dark and overcast, but he can tell from the smell of the air that it won't rain, not until later at the very least. He had worried about that, the one detail of this he couldn't plan. It wasn't like the coffin or the suit or location—money had made those choices. But he couldn't bribe the weather.

“You're early,” he hears Merlin say from behind.

Eggsy turns around. Merlin doesn't look like he's slept much, not with those dark circles under his eyes. But he's immaculately dressed in all black, and more importantly he's here. “Where else would I be?”

They stand in silence, waiting together, and at thirty-one years old Eggsy is finally old enough to appreciate the silence for the gift that it is. He tilts his head forward, nose against the scarf that still smells like Harry, his soap and his cologne and every other scent Eggsy has tried to drown himself in over the last few days. It's everywhere except on their sheets, which had to be washed, and even though it had taken all day to do so Eggsy had done laundry. Thursday was laundry day, Eggsy knew, had been trained to know, and As long as one of them was home the laundry must be done that day. So Eggsy had washed the sheets.

“I'm not late, am I?” Roxy asks, one hand on her hat as she picks her way across the soft ground in her heels.

“Not at all,” Merlin says, answering when Eggsy does not. “Quite the opposite in fact. We're all early.”

Roxy chose a spot between Merlin and Eggsy, so close that their shoulders almost touch, closing their ranks and creating a wall of black wool. “Not too early, I hope?” Roxy asks.

Eggsy tries not to be mad at her for it. She has Kingsman to run, a life to get back to. She isn't waiting for her life to arrive in a mahogany coffin. “Nah,” Eggsy tells her, leaning over to nudge her shoulder. “They should be here any minute.”

They hadn't planned a viewing, or a service. Harry had made notes that he didn't want a service, and Eggsy selfishly didn't want a viewing. He'd already seen Harry dead once, wasn't sure he could handle it again. Not when it still gave him nightmares eight years later—nightmares he would no longer have Harry to comfort him after.

The hearse arrived after ten more minutes of silence, bearing out the coffin that Eggsy himself had picked out. And as much as Eggsy had wanted as many people as possible present, the moment he saw that wooden box his knees buckled, and he was glad no one else was there to see it.

“Easy,” Roxy urged, wrapping an arm around Eggy's shoulders and holding him there.

“Is anyone going to lead a service?” the man in charge of the coffin asked, looking at the three attendees as if he was confused as to why they were even there while the other men went to work setting up the coffin to be lowered into the ground. “Most people don't just watch the us bury the thing.”

Merlin and Roxy, mouths firmly closed, both looked over to Eggsy.

Eggsy took a deep breath, straightened his posture, and ushered every ounce of self control not to punch the man who had just referred to Harry and his coffin as _the thing_. He felt Roxy take back her arm, watched as she held her hands in front of herself, waiting for whatever Eggsy had planned.

So he nods, reaches into the pocket of his jacket with a shaking hand, and takes out a stack of folded papers. Eggsy unfolds the papers, rubs them between his fingers, letting the tabloid paper dry out the pads of his skin. He had meant this as a gift, an anniversary present—ten years together, five years married. The traditional gift was something wood, but Eggsy knew that Harry would appreciate this more. It was all he could give to the man he had already given his entire self to. So Eggsy cleared his throat and began to read.

“August third,” he begins, reading off the first page, “Britain Paralyzed by Hot Air.” Their first kiss, when Harry had come back from the dead only to cause Eggsy to scream, cry, hit him, and then kiss him all within the span of five minutes. Eggsy had just made peace with the death and then Harry was back like a reward. A reward that cupped his face like it was the most precious thing in the world and kissed him back just as sweetly, a culmination of everything they had started and a new beginning for everything they had yet to do.

August fifteenth,” is the second Sun headline. “UFO Hits Wind Turbine.” Their first fuck, only so long after the first kiss because of a pre-planned mission. Eggsy had spent the entire time wondering what Harry's fingers would feel like in his ass, what Harry's cock would taste like in his mouth, imagining the noises Harry would make when he came. But none of this filthiest daydreams could compare to the reality of it, the heavy weight of Harry bearing down on him, claiming him, sucking marks into his neck that had taken weeks to heal and had nearly made his mother faint.

“January twenty second: We've Saved Her Ass.” The day they finally realized they had both wanted to live together but had been too scared to ask—Harry not wanting to pull Eggsy from his family and Eggsy not wanting to intrude on Harry's space. They had laughed about it afterward, moved Eggsy in that evening and spent the next three days having sex in every room in the house, even in the bathroom with Mr. Pickles watching.

Eggsy looks over, can see the understanding dawning on Merlin and Roxy's faces. They know about Harry, about the Sun, but this was something else entirely.

“April nineteenth,” Eggsy continued, wincing before reading out, “Boy, 4, Has Mark of Devil.” He hears Roxy gasp too. It's the day Harry proposed. He had stormed past Merlin to the medical bay to see Eggsy, just back from a botched mission, two days late and with two gunshot wounds to show for it. Eggsy had apologized for missing their dinner reservations the night before, and Harry had asked what in the world was he going to do with him? Eggsy had shrugged, the pain of it hardly worth the gesture. But Harry knew. “I'll just have to marry you,” he had said, taking the small velvet box out of his suit pocket and holding it so that Eggsy could see it. “If you'll have me?” Eggsy's heart rate had skyrocketed, and the heart rate monitor made sure everyone in the room knew it.

Tear pricked at the corners of his eyes when he read the next headline. “June seventh: 1,200 Killed by Mental Patient.” Their wedding day. A small service, as per Harry's request, but large enough so that his little sister could be the flower girl, as per her demand. Merlin had been Harry’s best man, Roxy had been Eggsy’s, and Eggsy’s mother had cried tears of joy almost up till the cake cutting. They honeymooned at home, watching every movie they had talked about but never had time to see. And when Harry had asked Eggsy, “Aren’t you tired of spending all your time with me?” Eggsy had just laughed. 

Eggsy can hear Roxy crying, and he looks up long enough to see Merlin holding her hand. Merlin isn't crying and Eggsy doesn’t blame him. He doubts Merlin has anything left to cry out now, days after it happened. Instead, he has his face scrunched up like he’s trying to keep a wild animal trapped behind his teeth. 

Eggsy didn’t stop reading. Three more headlines are from June seventeenth: Dog Ate My Baby’s Head, Flapjack Whack Rap Claptrap, and You Let Your Country Down. Three amazing anniversaries with the love of his life, and at each one Eggsy had reminded Harry, through laughter and kisses, that he still wasn’t sick of him yet. And each time the words tasted like champagne, like happiness, like everything about this perfectly chaotic life they had strung up between themselves. 

That is where the collection should have ended. Those are the only Sun headlines Eggsy should have had to save for Harry, plus whatever the Sun had come up with for their fifth anniversary, their fifth June seventeenth. 

But instead Eggsy reads, “February sixth.” He stops, fighting back a sob by pressing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It racks his chest anyway, makes him lean forward. “February sixth,” he repeats, voice tight, “Godzilla Kills Bono.” Eggsy had woken up that morning, groggy and well-fucked and in desperate need of coffee. He had nudged Harry, who was still asleep, asking if he could start coffee. Only when Eggsy came out of the bathroom and saw that Harry hadn’t moved did he worry. Harry hadn’t move, wouldn’t move, wouldn’t ever breathe again. Brain aneurysm, the doctors had said. Not a fire of bullets or a mission gone wrong, but his own bloody brain. 

The tears roll down Eggsy’s cheeks without warning, searing hot against his cool skin, and land quietly on the scarf. Slowly, he moves to the last page in the stack, today’s Sun. “February tenth: Psycho Cabbie’s Rampage on CCTV.” 

Eggsy squeezes his eyes closed, more tears falling. He feels more than sees Roxy turn to him, hugging him, holding him close against her small body. It’s a familiar warmth from all the years they’ve been friends and all the missions they’ve posed as couples, but it’s not what he wants. She’s not what he wants. She’s not Harry. 

“Is that it, then?” the man from the funeral home asks. 

“Eggsy?” Merlin asks, voice raw. 

All Eggsy can do is look up out of Roxy’s neck and nod. It’s enough to make Merlin nod to the man, and then the lowering commences. Eggsy pulls himself from Roxy, sniffling and wiping his nose on the back of his hand even though he knows better. He needs to see this, needs to see the box going down into the ground. It moves slowly, tentatively, like at any moment Harry will pop out of it and call the whole thing off, decide he really doesn’t want to be dead. 

It lands in the hole without a sound, and before the first shovel of dirt can touch it, Eggsy drops the Sun covers down over the coffin. They flutter as they fall, twisting and spreading out before the dirt weighs them down.


End file.
